Adaline
by Nikki1212
Summary: I would choose you in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I would find you and I would choose you. ; KakaSaku AU
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply._**

 ** _Revised 15 Jan 2017_**

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 ** _Past is Prologue_**

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If someone were to ask Sakura when she thought everything had gone wrong, she'd chuckle grimly and say: April 1st, seven years after the war, four days after her twenty-fourth birthday.

She'd tell them that it had been a muggy day heavy with the promise of more rain—prominent enough that even she with her decidedly normal olfactory senses could smell it. But it had been the first day of Spring, seven promising years since the eve of the Alliance's victory, and her team had decided to have a celebratory training session.

Sakura remembers because that was the day Kakashi had brought out his dogs, despite knowing that it would rain, and she had innocuously complained about the wet dog smell that would inevitably follow them until they bathed.

She didn't really mind the smell, not really, and she supposed that Kakashi _knew_ that because he had only patted her head and said _Essence of Wet Dog is in now, Sakura-chan._

She'd say that it was a normal day as far as the rag-tagged Team 7 went, and there was no reason to be wary of anything other than the usual injuries that came from being on a team with such power houses—demigods, really. As with all other ninja activities, training sessions had their moments of danger, but one does not become a shinobi without knowing how to manage risks and how to prevent life threatening injuries in friendly spars.

Despite being ninjas with positive control of that precious life energy called _chakra_ , they were still—for all sense and purposes—human. Unless, of course, you were Naruto or Sasuke, but Sakura had accepted long ago that those two would die of something completely arbitrarily extraterrestrial; because if a _goddess_ couldn't kill them, then what hope did they as mere _mortals_ have?

Nevertheless—bijuu and doujutsu notwithstanding—they, too, were once simply human children in the academy without knowledge of the power dropped onto their heads. In the Academy, all second year students learned how to combat humanity's fallacies with applied knowledge of their chakra.

Humans, her sensei had dryly explained, were simply sacks of meat. Intelligent sacks of meat, but meat nonetheless.

They were just as fragile as a pig, or any other large mammal, and would undoubtedly break if mishandled. Their only saving grace as shinobi—as anything, really—was the fact that they could control chakra. There was a reason why civilians were so breakable and delicate; and _that_ , besides the obvious, was why chakra control was so important.

And so they, as eight year old children, learned to cushion blows and falls with chakra to prevent irreparable damage or life threatening injuries. Unfortunately, the Academy's way of teaching this was by literally _punting_ children across the training grounds; and, as children were wont to do, they learned that if they did as they were _supposed_ to, it wouldn't hurt as much—or at all—when they hit the ground…or tree.

Sakura had first applied this new skill during that terrifying moment when Mizuki-sensei (the bastard) had lifted her the same way you'd a lift a toddler and launched her not so gently across the field. New to the program Iruka-sensei had been standing by to catch those who were having significant trouble grasping the concept of the chakra cushion, and she remembers glowing under his _very good, Sakura-chan!_ when he didn't have to catch her.

Therefore, she had been aware of her exceptional chakra control from an early age and had henceforth never had a problem with cushioning blows or falls with her chakra—it was as natural to her as breathing.

And that was why, for the life of her, Sakura could not understand why things had happened the way they did.

She had been going through her katas, relishing in the feel of total muscle control and the sensation of the pre-rain breeze against her skin while her other teammates sparred in the distance. Kakashi was playing a childish game of keep-away on steroids with his summons, and Sai was testing out a newly developed ink that was resistant to water in the nearby lake. It had been a pleasant day.

Until Sasuke, who for all the world was a genius but was prone to his moments of stupidity, powered up his Chidori to give Naruto a playful shock and Sakura _froze._ She forgot herself in that one moment where the long buried post-traumatic stress that was solely reserved for the Chidori paralyzed her and iced the blood in her veins.

It was like being seventeen and under that awful genjutsu of Sasuke plunging his Chidori encased arm into her chest again. She was back on the battlefield with agonized tears running down her face, feeling like her lungs were collapsing under the trauma and betrayal and she couldn't _breathe._

The unnatural sound of artificial chirping birds and the smell of ozone consumed her senses and Sakura was lost to it all. There were times, obviously, when Sasuke or even Kakashi used the Chidori on missions, but it was entirely different when she was caught unawares while relaxed and confident in her own safety.

And because the roaring in her ears failed to abate and the pupils in her wide eyes dilated to the point where they were unseeing, Sakura was heedless to the warning call sent her way.

She didn't see Bull, who had slipped on the large amount of mud present on the field, barrel towards her at high speeds. Kakashi shouted her name in alarm when she gave no indication of moving, and the breath left her with a loud _whoosh_ when his massively muscled body connected with her own to send her flying.

But she was still in a state of shock, because Sasuke's Chidori was still flaring and she still couldn't _breathe_ , and her chakra control—her reliable, familiar, _exceptional_ control—failed her. Her spine hit the railing of the nearby bridge, audibly snapping under her weight and immediately sending her into cardiac arrest. Her body plunged into the cold water under the bridge, giving way to an anoxic reflex and then rising to float limply.

And for a split second, heart stopping moment, Sakura's heart did just that.

Except, it seemed like the universe had other plans for her; because in the same instant that Sakura's heart stopped, Sasuke had plunged his Chidori deep into the wet Earth, sending millions of volts through the ground for miles.

Civilians would feel it as a curious shock beneath their feet, shinobi privy to the technique would jolt in alarm for a few moments before shaking their heads in exasperation, and Sakura…Sakura would feel like her world was bathed in a glorious light.

For though water is a poor conductor of electricity, the Chidori is essentially a strike of lightning; and plunging it into the wet ground that was already charged with its own natural chakra caused it to react violently with its current and sent the voltage directly into Sakura's body. It miraculously acted as a defibrillator and jolted her heart into pumping weakly and her lungs expanded with a righteous gasp as she was urgently pulled from the water.

And Sakura's unparalleled—reliable, familiar, _exceptional—_ chakra control coursed through her body to heal the damage in her heart and spine in record time. When her brilliant sea glass eyes fluttered open, she found herself cradled in her former Sensei's arms, surrounded by her anxious team, and Kakashi's shaky fingers pushing wet hair away from her face as she gasped for breath.

Her heart pumped strongly and desperately in her chest, her limbs trembled from aftershocks, and Sakura knew as well as she knew that Tsunade-shishou was a drunk that she should be dead.

"Sakura?" Kakashi's concerned voice filtered to her hazy brain and she latched onto his smooth baritone like a lifeline, "Sakura, are you alright?"

And her shaky and alarmingly pale hand had grasped onto the lapel of his flak jacket as she stared, flabbergasted, at his face, heedless of her teammates' mounting concern.

"Kakashi," she whispered, alarmed at the perplexity of her situation, "I stopped breathing."

And her silver haired friend had nodded mutely, his hands tightening around her as her eyes darted around wildly, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that something was _wrong._

"My heart stopped."

There was a choking noise that came from her left and in the back of her mind she recognized it as Sasuke.

"Kakashi," she cried, shaking him so that he could comprehend the gravity of it all because _clearly_ he wasn't understanding, "I _died!"_

And yet here she was: alive, breathing, and whole. She could detect nothing wrong internally nor externally—was devoid of pain when Naruto gently extracted her from Kakashi's arms to hold her in his own and trace calloused fingertips down her face. Sakura couldn't focus, her mind was well and truly boggled. She should be dead, her heart had stopped, her spine had broken— _she should be dead._

She could remember it, too. The feeling of life draining her, of sinking into a darkness so vast she couldn't hope to escape as she took her last breath, the shock of pain that gradually faded away as her neurons and synapses shut down. The truth of her finite existence was absolutely terrifying, and it was terribly ridiculous how quickly death sank its fingers into her.

"You're not dead, Sakura-chan," Naruto gently coaxed her chin to look into his tender blue eyes, "You're right here, with us. With Sasuke-teme, Kaka-sensei, Sai-baka, Yamato-taichou—Team 7. You're okay, Sakura-chan, you're fine."

She felt Sasuke's hands land gently on her lower back as they both helped her stand on wobbly legs, and it wasn't until she was sitting in a sterile hospital room with Shizune preening and tutting about that Sakura allowed herself to dissolve into tears.

And when Shizune dropped her needle in alarm to ask her what was wrong, Sakura laughed morosely through her sobs because how _stupid_ would it have been to die from being run over by a _dog_.

Sakura wouldn't know for many years that, for her, life had effectively stopped that day. It would take many hours and days of testing for her to realize that the high voltage in Sasuke's Chidori had induced electron compression in her DNA, therefore making her immune to the ravages of time and destining her to fate where she would never age another day.

On April 1st, seven years since the end of the Fourth Shinobi Great War, and four days after her twenty fourth birthday, Haruno Sakura became immortal.

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 ** _tbc_**


	2. Adaline

_**Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers applied.**_

 _ **Revised 15 Jan 2017**_

 _"Courage is inseparable from love and leads to what may arguably be one of the noblest of all warrior virtues: selflessness."_

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 **Adaline**

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She didn't think anything was different for a _long_ time.

In fact, Sakura continued on with her life like anybody else would. She perfected her techniques, learned some new ones along the way, and had a family.

If anyone had told twelve-year-old Sakura that she would start a family with her lazy, flippantly _un_ -cool sensei, _thirty-five_ -year-old Sakura was sure the poor girl would have had an aneurysm.

But she _had_ married her lazy, flippantly un-cool ex-sensei, and it had been the best decision of her life.

Falling in love with Kakashi was ground-breaking, more so than that incredibly fallible love she once held for her once errant teammate who, as it turned out, was _gay_. For _Naruto_ , of all people. Sakura's love for Kakashi was the type that snuck up on you when you were doing the most mundane of things—like washing the pack on a hot summer day in an itsy bitsy bikini and catching a soft blush on his cheeks. Or sitting on the couch under a lazy ceiling fan while reading a book, looking over, and thinking, _I really do love you._

It had been a shy relationship at first as they were both were uncertain of how to cross that boundary between teacher and student, friend to lover. There was a blatant line in society that was painted in red ink that made them hesitant to go public with their relationship; but Sakura had always been impatient, and she was in _love!_ With someone who loved her _back._ Imagine that?

There was _no way_ she was going to let some cantankerous old traditionalists get in the way of her happiness, no way. She knew that Kakashi was only keeping it hush-hush for her sake because he really didn't care either way. He loved her, she loved him, and for him that was enough.

But she didn't want to hide him anymore; Kakashi was _perfect_. He was a good man and all of his odd idiosyncrasies were incredibly endearing to her. She was tired of hiding him, tired of caring what people thought of her or anything else for that matter.

So, Sakura, with all the tact of a rhinoceros, dragged her boyfriend of over a year into the most crowded of market places on the busiest day of the season, and asked him to marry her.

That's right. _She_ proposed to _him_ , and it was incredible.

After the initial shock of seeing her get down to one knee, Kakashi had ripped down his mask and swooped her into a breath-taking, toe curling kiss as the crowd erupted into cheers. There was a lot of crying on her part—it seemed like she needn't have worried what people thought, anyway.

She was twenty-six the day they married, and twenty-seven when her eldest son was born. He was a carbon copy of his father, and he was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on. Four years later, she had another son, this time with her shock of pink hair but, curiously enough, with _her_ father's cerulean eyes. Genetics were a tricky thing, but when he smiled, (or pouted, or frowned for that matter) he was, for all the world, Kakashi's son.

And, three years later, Sakura bounced her precocious one-year old daughter on her lap as the silver haired, green eyed baby chewed on a lock of Sakura's candy floss hair. It was their father's birthday, and most of the village had turned up to celebrate the Rokudaime's turning of age. Even being an aloof, late, and taciturn individual, Kakashi had been a well-liked Hokage and was still somewhat of a legend.

Their eldest son was showing his proud father the marks he received on his exams in the academy while the youngest—a wonderfully calm, but still mischievous four year old—tried to swipe a finger through the cake.

He was turning 48, and Sakura wouldn't have thought it remarkable under any other circumstances. People age, it's life; and Kakashi had this thing where he was unfettered to the rules of time and never changed. He could be 63 and Sakura was sure that he'd still be reading porn in public and sporting that massive shock of silver hair.

But then Ino had slumped into a plastic chair at her table with a groan, and Sakura's blanket of happiness had unknowingly been snatched away.

"I don't know how you do it, Forehead," Ino moaned as she rubbed at her temples, slouching in her seat as she also rolled her shoulders.

"Do what, Pig," Sakura asked sweetly, cooing at her precious daughter who reached for Ino with a happy gurgle.

"Have three kids and still look like you frolicked in a patch of daisies," Ino reached over for the baby and gently brushed the downy hair from her forehead before whining dramatically, "I have two, and I swear they're going to end up giving me a heart attack and grey hairs before I reach 40. That is _so_ not a cute look for me."

And, catching Sakura's evil eye, because she had two undeniably _cute_ children with grey hair, Ino added with a giggle as she tickled the baby's belly, "But it's cute on you, baby girl! You're lucky, you have your Mama's unfair genes and will always be a beautiful girl," to Sakura she said, "Seriously, Forehead, what's with that? Tell me your secrets!"

And Sakura had blinked, because she didn't do anything differently than Ino did. She ate and did the same things she did when she was younger and childless; Sakura didn't understand what Ino was asking of her.

"Yes, Sakura-chan," Hinata gracefully sat to Ino's right, holding her youngest by the hand and then sending him off to play with the others, "You must tell us your secrets. You always look so lovely."

Sakura sat there in bemused silence as her other two friends stared at her expectantly. She didn't have any secrets!

"I bet you she's using Tsunade-sama's famous genjutsu," Ino snorted when it seemed like an answer wasn't forthcoming, "And that's why she doesn't want to tell us, Hinata-chan. Don't be selfish, Forehead Girl, tell us the jutsu! We want to look young, too!"

"Are we discussing Sakura's apparent lack of aging again?"

Sakura swiveled her head to see Temari dragging a seat from the next table over with a small smile. She had a juice stain on her usually pristine blouse and Ino sent her a sympathizing grin. Their two youngest were the same age, were best friends, and got into the strangest of things.

"Seriously, Sakura," Temari quipped, her fingers waggling in her baby's face, "Are you using Tsunade's jutsu? You don't look a day over 25."

" _Seriously_ ," Ino cried, passing the baby to a softly smiling Hinata, "You don't have any wrinkles, your body is still amazing, and where are _your_ gray hairs? You can't tell me you have _three_ kids and no gray hairs!"

And Sakura, for the first time that she could remember, took a good look at her friends. Ino, who had fine lines on the sides of her mouth and crows feet around her eyes from a life of laughter; Hinata, who had delicate strands of grey in her beautiful indigo hair; and Temari, who was older than all of them and it was starting to show.

She supposed that it was warranted-they were almost to 40, after all.

Sakura's eyes took in the frazzled and tired state her friends were in—a byproduct of motherhood, she knew—and knew then that something wasn't right. But she had merely laughed, blamed it on a good diet and genetics, and the topic changed to that of their children.

But that night, as Sakura stared into the same unchanging reflection she had known for over ten years, she saw with clear eyes what everyone else did: A twenty-four year old woman with unblemished, smooth skin. A young woman with healthy hair and clear eyes in the prime of her youth.

She hadn't changed anything about herself—she did everything she used to do when she had been younger. And perhaps, therein lied the problem. She shouldn't be able to do those things, or she should at least feel some indication of getting older. But Sakura felt fine, she felt great, actually. She felt like she could run to Suna and back in record time.

Yes, that was the problem.

"Is everything alright, love?" her husband's smooth voice cut through her unhappy thoughts as his strong hands settled on her shoulders, "You're frowning pretty deeply at your reflection."

Sakura's brilliant green eyes caught Kakashi's own in the mirror and just as she had with her friends, she took a good look at him—at all of him, not just who she'd always known but who he had become—and felt panic grip her heart.

Her husband was 48 and, without the mask, it showed. Not as much as others, because Kakashi _had_ actually been blessed with astounding genetics, but he looked _older._ Though his body was still as fit as ever, he had deep creases around his eyes from his famous eye smiles and the dimples in his cheeks showed even as his face remained passive. His brow had a few wrinkles from his days of frowning deeply at some thing or another, and his hands were softer than they were in his youth.

Her husband was _aging_ and she, it appeared, was not.

"Kakashi," her soft voice must have alarmed him, because his hands tightened on her shoulders, "How old do I look?"

He raised a silver brow at her odd question, but humored her, perhaps thinking that it was another trick women liked to play, "Maa, Sakura, you don't look a day over 25!"

Sakura felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand in increasing alarm as she turned from the mirror and grasped his hands tightly in her own, "No, I'm serious. Look at me. If you didn't know me, how old would you think I am?"

Kakashi's face smoothed out as his eyes ran down her form intensely, and Sakura struggled to keep still under the scrutiny. But this was serious, and if he saw what everyone else did, then she'd know her theory was worth pursuing.

"I'd think," he started slowly, a pit of apprehension opening in her belly, "You were, at most, 24. Twenty-two if it was a passing glance."

Dropping his hands as if they burned her skin, Sakura turned from him and raked her shaking fingers through her hair with a curse as she walked away. Her husband blinked at her peculiar mood and slowly lowered his hands, watching with a furrowed brow as she pulled out multiple photo albums from the closet and started flipping through them.

He watched as her frown grew more and more pronounced with the turning of each page until she shoved them away from her with another loud curse to cradle her head in her hands.

"Sakura?" His voice projected his confusion and concern and it did little to ebb the anxiety buzzing under her skin, "What's going on?"

Lifting her head from her youthful hands, Sakura grabbed the album closest to her and flipped to a random picture, "Look, Kakashi," she spat, not unkindly, "Look at this picture and tell me what you see."

His grey eyes lowered to search for what she sought, but his voice was as bemused as before when he replied, "I see my family—from five years ago?"

There was a pregnant pause where Sakura wanted to screech because _he didn't get it_ , and Kakashi wanted to scratch his head _because_ he didn't get it. The pause was broken by her husband's exhale as he sat on the bed, took the album from her hand, and then pulled her to sit down beside him on their downy comforter.

"Sakura," he sighed, pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "If this is about me being older than you—"

"No, Kakashi, it's not about that!"

Snatching her hand away from him, Sakura flipped frantically through a photo album once more.

"Look," she stressed, pointing at a specific picture, "This is us on our wedding day. _Look at my face."_

"You were beautiful, dear, I don't unders—"

"And look here," Sakura interjected, already flipping to another picture, "This is us a few months after our eldest son was born," Kakashi opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to say something sweet, but Sakura barreled on with another picture, "and _this_ is me with our youngest son," another picture, "and then our daughter, a year ago."

Her expectant eyes lifted to search her husband's, who was tracing her smiling face in each picture, and then narrowed when he sighed again.

"Sakura," he drawled, shaking his head, "What are you showing me? You look the same; what am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Exactly, Kakashi! I was 26, 27, 31, and 34 respectively, and I look the same!"

"But isn't that a good thing? That's what women want, right?"

Sakura wanted to tear her hair out, but she instead pulled out her oldest of photo albums reserved solely for pictures of Team 7, and urgently turned the pages until she stopped on a picture of her smiling face identical to the four before that.

"And look at this," she said softly, pulling the picture from the album and placing it in his hands, "I was 24 here. It was taken a week after the…incident. _Please_ tell me you understand what I'm trying to show you."

And because—even in his old age, her husband was a genius—his eyes widened in dawning realization before he himself flipped through each picture they had taken of her in the last decade. He examined each photograph for the next ten minutes, slowly absorbing each detail and then periodically glancing at her face until he shut the album with a resounding snap.

His eyes sought hers by the light of their bedside lamp, "You're not using Tsunade's jutsu. I would know."

Sakura chewed anxiously on her thumb nail, getting up to pace around the room. Kakashi, even without the Sharingan, could detect a genjutsu for miles away, so it was sort of reassuring to know that she wouldn't have to try to prove that she wasn't under one.

Turning to him, Sakura's voice came out as a whisper, "I don't—I'm not…Kakashi, I'm not aging."

"How?" Kakashi inquired as he rose to his feet, the picture of her smiling 24 year old self still in his hand, "How is that possible?"

 _"I don't know,"_ she cried, "It doesn't make sense! But how else am I supposed to explain the fact that _I still look like I'm twenty-four?!"_

"It's not genetics," she continued, her voice quickly dissolving into hysterics, "Because my parents did _not_ age gracefully, and it's not a jutsu because I feel fine. So how, _how is this possible?"_

"Sakura," Kakashi crossed towards her in two long strides. "You need to calm down, we'll figure this out later. But right now, I need you to calm down."

Nodding mutely, Sakura let herself be guided to the bed as she breathed through her nose. He was right, she needed to calm down lest she wake the children. But her mind was whirling with the thoughts of how physically impossible it was to remain ageless while everyone else succumbed to the rules of time. She felt the bed dip under her husband's weight and let herself be drawn into his arms, her head falling to rest on his chest.

"We'll figure this all out tomorrow," he spoke into her hair, rubbing her arm soothingly, "Let's go to bed, we've had a long day."

That night, Sakura went to bed with a profound feeling of dread dragging its way up her body to her throat. As she lay in her husband's arms, she prayed to every deity that was listening that it'd be something as simple as genetics.

* * *

But four days later, a meandering nurse had wandered into the pathology lab and found the Director of Medicine sobbing over a pile of blood spattered charts and a tipped over microscope. Alarmed, the new nurse had rushed to the rosette's side with wide eyes, but the older woman stood up sharply with a shake of her head and silently walked out of the lab.

The girl was baffled; what could have happened to make Haruno-sama so upset? Taking a glance at the charts—and the general disarray the desk was in—the nurse couldn't find anything remotely distressing. After all, Haruno-sama had only been looking at DNA. What was so saddening about that?

Shrugging, the nurse walked out of the lab and pegged it as simple PMS. _That_ , she thought, she could understand.

* * *

And Sakura?

Sakura had launched herself out of the nearest window and made her way home to fall to her knees in a hysterical mess after crossing the threshold to her bedroom. Through muffled ears, she heard her husband's quick steps on the floorboards and startled voice before he dropped to his knees beside her.

"Sakura?" Kakashi's blatant concern only made her sob harder into her hands while his own hovered uncertainly at her shoulders, "Sakura, what's wrong?"

Collapsing into his arms, Sakura buried her face in his throat and let her tears mix with the water dripping from his hair. He was clad in only a towel and had most likely jumped out of the shower once he'd heard her wails, and her heart filled to bursting with love for this man who would drop _everything_ to come to her aid.

But the sorrow sinking its grip into her chest would not make room for it.

How could she tell him? How could she tell the love of her soul that they would never grow old together? That the world would turn and change, and only _she_ would remain constant? How could she tell him that she would outlive him, their children, and their grandchildren? _How?_

She couldn't.

 _She couldn't._

Whatever had caused her infinite existence had changed her DNA so thoroughly it was irreversible.

So instead, Sakura wiped her tears, mumbled something about PMS and a patient passing, and Kakashi had nodded sympathetically while rubbing a comforting hand up and down her back. He was heedless to the way her heart broke with each kiss he placed against her face, oblivious to the ache in her soul as he tucked her disheveled hair behind her ears.

After dressing in sweat pants and a t-shirt, he held her hand as they walked to the kitchen together where he volunteered to prepare dinner for the family, and squeezed her shoulder when she sat down at the table.

"Did you discover anything about the whole aging thing? The baby's sleeping, by the way."

His question made her freeze with her hands tightly clasped together in front of her. Biting her lip, Sakura watched his back as he set about taking ingredients out of the pantry and refrigerator with the dexterity that came from being a father and a family man. Kakashi was her husband—her love, the end of her red string—and she couldn't tell him.

Maybe it was selfish of her, this secrecy, but she couldn't lay that burden on his shoulders and Sakura had always been a little selfish. Kakashi deserved to be happy with the image of his perfect family seared into his heart, not that of an immortal wife who would remain forever youthful when they were supposed to grow old together.

No, she'd shoulder this burden on her own; she'd find a way to make things right.

"Sakura?"

"Um," she blinked, "yes, darling, I did."

"Oh?" Her husband turned his head to look at her, a spatula in his hand and a grain of rice stuck to his cheek, "Care to share?"

"Yeah," her lips curled into a tremulous smile as the sound of a door opening with childish greetings and laughter filled the home, "It's really just great genetics after all. Nothing to worry about."

Kakashi hummed as he turned over the sliced eggplant on the grill pan, "Well, in that case, aren't the children lucky?"

"Why are we lucky, Daddy?" Her four year old latched onto his father's legs, begging to be coddled and hugged after a day at Naruto and Sasuke's house, "Are we getting yum-yums?"

" _No_ , otouto," her eldest sighed after giving her a quick peck on the cheek and a hug, "We don't get yum-yums until we finish Mama's list of chores for the week. ' _Member?"_

 _"Re_ member, sweetheart," Sakura corrected as she drew both of her boys into her arms, "Big boys say _whole_ words."

"Yes, Mama," her two babies recited dutifully, giggling when she sloppily kissed them both on the cheek.

"So, why are we lucky?"

Sakura was saved from having to lie to her children when her daughter started crying and she walked away to retrieve her as Kakashi explained the science behind genetics and genes (" _Not the kind you wear on weekends, boys.")_ and how _blessed_ they were.

Picking up her baby, Sakura nuzzled her nose against her soft hair and inhaled her lovely scent as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

With the prospect of infinity hanging over her head, she had no choice but to enjoy her family while she could.

* * *

Time does as time is wont to do and inevitably passes.

Her children grew, her husband aged, and Sakura refined Tsunade's technique so finely that she made it seem like she aged with them—gradually, of course. She still had the guise of amazing genetics to maintain, and she was sure even her genius of a husband couldn't break the technique.

She cherished every moment with her family like a woman starved.

She snapped pictures at each of her children's weddings, sobbed joyfully at every birth of a grandchild, of every _great_ -grandchild, and slept in the arms of her old husband all while knowing that she had not changed at all in the last fifty-three years.

It was _devastating_ to watch the wrinkles form in her daughter's face while her own remained smooth like porcelain, to watch as her sons retired to be with their families while she could still probably go on dangerous missions and come out victorious.

Sometimes, in the privacy of her bathroom, Sakura would drop the genjutsu and poke at her skin to see if there had been any changes—any wrinkles, any gray hairs, _anything_ —and was always disappointed despite years of finding none.

But it was watching Kakashi age that sometimes made it hard to breathe. It was painful to watch his once steady hands shake when doing simple things, to watch as his strong back bowed with old age and his hair fade from moonlit silver to snowy white. It suffocated her, sometimes, to see how things had become much harder for him and know that her time with him was running out.

And eventually, the day she dreaded with every fiber of her being had arrived.

Kakashi—her husband, her love at the end of the red string, her _soulmate—_ lay on his deathbed in the comfort of their home, and all Sakura could think about was how _time and fate_ could be so cruel.

The medic presiding over his care (because Sakura had retired long ago) shook his head silently as he walked out of their bedroom, stepping aside as the ever-growing Hatake clan filed in.

"He doesn't have much time," the young man said softly as tears welled in her glassy genjutsu clouded eyes, "I don't think he'll make it through the night, Sakura-hime. It's best if your family starts saying their good-byes."

Sakura nodded her head sorrowfully, her genjutsu's snowy hair fluttering before her eyes, and dismissed him. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, hard enough for stars to blaze behind her eyelids, and leaned against the wall as a dry sob erupted from her throat.

"Mama?"

Not bothering to wipe her tears, Sakura straightened and turned to her youngest son (her youngest son with gray hairs in his pink and clear blue eyes pulled down by worried lines) and walked towards him to take his calloused hands in her seemingly weakened ones.

"It's time to say goodbye to your Father," she whispered, the words spilling out shakily over quivering lips.

How many times had she said those words to her children over the years? When dropping them off at the Academy, at someone's house, when Kakashi went to work? Never had goodbye sounded so absolute, and it didn't seem real to her. None of it did.

Her son nodded, his lips pressing into a grim line under his beard and tears spilling over to roll down his cheeks. "I'll go tell the others."

She took a moment to compose herself before walking into the bedroom that smelled of _home_ with the underlying currents of antiseptics. As the matriarch, she had to be strong for her family—even if she felt anything but.

There were quiet sniffles as everyone took their time saying their last words to the patriarch of the Hatake Clan; Kakashi was adored by his family, even by the youngest ones who hadn't known him very long and didn't quite understand why they were saying goodbye. And Sakura remained stone-faced throughout it all, not daring to break even when Kakashi asked that he say his own private good-byes to his wife.

The family left the room sadly, their children taking time to press lingering kisses to his face—to stroke his hair one last time, to inhale his scent of fresh grass and Konoha's trees before it was gone forever. Her daughter—the Daddy's girl that she'd always be—was the last to leave, and she walked backwards towards the door as if searing his face into her memory.

When the door shut behind her, Sakura hurried over to her husband's side and clasped his delicate hand gently between her own.

"Kakashi?" She breathed as she held his hand to her face, closing her eyes as his soft fingers stroked her cheek.

"I was hoping for one last Icha Icha reenactment," he breathed, and his voice was so, so weak and weathered, "What do you say, Sakura?"

"You idiot," Sakura laughed, despite her tears, _oh_ how she loved this man, "I'd kill you—even with my old bones."

"But you're not old," and he sounded so sure that for split second, Sakura froze.

"What are you talking about? You're not _blind_ , look at me, I'm ancient!" Her laugh trailed off weakly when his steely eyes showed no signs of mirth. She was reminded of those looks he used to give her when she was caught lying as a Genin, and Sakura resisted the urge to curl in on herself.

"How did you know?" She asked weakly, actually feeling her age for once.

"I've always known, love," her still brilliant emerald eyes widened the more he spoke, "I've known since that day you came home decades ago. It wasn't hard to put two and two together—I've never seen you so distraught over a patient or PMS before or after that. And did you _really_ think I couldn't see those layers and layers of genjutsu you've worn since then?"

And all Sakura could do was stare at him silently, her heart tearing to shreds with each passing second. All those years of keeping it a secret and he had already known; all those years spent drowning in the knowledge of eternity alone and he had _known_.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" She cried, not ungently, and Kakashi shrugged his frail shoulders.

"I figured you had your reasons, Sakura. It wasn't easy."

She didn't doubt for a _second_ that it had been hard on him. If it were her, she knew she'd have blurted it out hours after discovering it. She pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand; Kakashi was a good man, and she _loved_ him, truly and deeply.

"You're immortal aren't you?"

When Sakura nodded, a horrible silence settled into the room and the only sound that filled it was her husband's ragged breathing.

"Humor me," he said after he collected his breath, it was the most he had spoken in a long time, "Drop the genjutsu."

When she hesitated, he gently shook her hand once and added, " _Please_. I want to look at my wife as she _is_ , not who she wants me to see."

So Sakura nodded, a sob spilling from her lips, and dropped the genjutsu.

Kakashi's smile was as dazzling as it had ever been when he saw her twenty-four year old face—though contorted by sorrow—and the vibrant pink of her hair. He ran a shaking hand through her short locks, then trailed his fingers over her smooth unwrinkled skin, before stopping at her lips.

"Beautiful," he murmured, "You have always been so beautiful."

 _Oh_ , how her heart was in agony. Her youthful lips pressed kisses to his fingertips while his other hand reached to play with her hair.

"I've always loved your hair," he said, reverently, "It made you, you. I've missed it."

 _"Kakashi,"_ she sobbed, uncaring of how splotchy her face looked or how ugly she sounded, "How am I supposed to live without you?"

"You'll be fine, Sakura," Kakashi replied gently, beckoning her to climb onto the large bed, "You have our kids, so a part of me will always exist somewhere."

Sakura rested her smooth forehead on his chest, mindful of how shallow his breaths were. They didn't have much time.

"I can't tell them," she whispered brokenly, "I can't tell anyone. _I can't."_

"I know," he muttered into her hair, his voice growing weaker, "I know."

A desperate thought came unbidden to her, and Sakura gently extracted herself from his arms to grasp his aged face between her graceful hands.

"I can die with you," she pleaded, "Two weeks from now, I can stop my own heart with medical jutsu and no one will know. _I can."_

With surprising strength, Kakashi grasped her shoulders and shook her once, his eyes blazing as he spat, "Hatake Sakura, you will _not,_ under any circumstances, commit suicide. You are a _strong_ woman, the strongest I've ever met, and you _will_ get through this. I believe in you."

"Promise me you'll live," he begged, and when she didn't say anything, shook her again, _"Promise me!"_

 _"I promise,"_ she wept, her tears clouding her vision so thoroughly she could barely make out his face, "But _how_ , Kakashi? _I need you._ How will I get through this without you?"

A sudden burst of chakra made her glance up in surprise, and she could write such terrible poetry about the way it felt to be met with the countenance of her lover from fifty-five years ago.

"You'll see me again," his voice is once again that rich, smooth baritone that she had fallen in love with and would always love, and he is so sure that she believes him, "In whatever lifetime, wherever you go, find me, Sakura."

He holds her face in the strong, calloused hands of his thirty-eight year old self, locks his clear grey gaze with her sea glass orbs, and says with familiar conviction, " _Find me."_

And Sakura nods desperately and curls herself around him.

"I will," she says to his soft lips as she peppers them with frantic kisses, "I will," she promises his closing eyes as she climbs off the bed to once again hold his aged hand against her chest.

 _"I will."_

* * *

Hatake Kakashi dies at the ripe old age of 94 surrounded by his flourishing clan and loving wife, and the loss of a village hero is felt keenly throughout Konoha. Thousands attend his funeral.

Five years later, his wife, Hatake Sakura, dies at the age of 82 surrounded by her children and their families. She is the last of the infamous Team 7 and Rookie 9 to pass, and thousands attend _her_ funeral.

And, as occupied as Konoha is with a village hero's funeral, no one notices the young woman with an astonishing resemblance to the recently deceased Haruno Sakura making her way out of the village and into the trees with one last lingering look behind her. If they had, they would say it was one from the clan departing on a terribly timed mission, or that it was her spirit joining her lover.

And Sakura?

Sakura has a hundred lifetimes to look for him.

* * *

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **tbc**_


	3. Everlast

**Disclaimer: All standard disclaimer apply.**

 **Revised 15 Jan 2017**

 _"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights_

* * *

 **Everlasting**

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

When Sakura leaves Konoha at the age of 82, she does it because she is selfish and she knows it.

She brings with her a few change of clothes, new mission gear, and photographs of her family—her family that she's left behind for the sake of her sanity, for the sake of their own oblivious happiness. It was pitifully easy to fake her own death and replace "her body" with one from the morgue. It is something she will _always_ be ashamed of, even if it _was_ used for science and set to be cremated anyway.

No one would ever suspect deceit or that she hadn't really died, because Sakura was 82 years old and, at that age, life comes down to borrowed time.

She didn't even stay behind for her own funeral, she _couldn't_. She couldn't bear to watch the grief on her children's faces as they buried an imposter and mourned a lie. It had been incredibly difficult to fake her ailments when her daughter was also an accomplished medical ninja, and even more so to keep from "dying" earlier when all of her friends started passing on.

Ino's death had been especially difficult, as the woman was the only one who still retained that youthful vitality that, in their youth, made Sakura want to tear out that long blonde hair. Ino, who still dyed her hair platinum blonde even in her 70s and wore makeup until her dying day.

Being around Ino's carefree vanity made Sakura feel like they were the same, that Ino was still twenty-four and able to pick up any man she so desired because she could. She had that vivacious attitude even on her death bed, and Ino was the only other person who had known about her immortality.

Sakura couldn't keep it from her, she really couldn't.

After Kakashi's death (something she still couldn't think about without feeling like falling to her knees, even years later), Ino had been her pillar of support. Not Naruto, for though he accepted her unfathomable love for her husband, he couldn't quite get passed the former sensei-student relationship and had still called Kakashi _sensei_ even after his death. And his husband, Sasuke, wouldn't have known how to comfort her anyhow, as the only person to get any type of emotional reaction out of him was Naruto.

The rest of Team 7 goes unsaid; as Yamato died two years before Kakashi did, and Sai still didn't understand grief. So it was Ino, her flaxen haired friend, that had held her and wiped away her tears with petal soft fingers. Sakura would be forever grateful for Ino's support, as her children had tried their best to help her cope with the loss, but they were also grieving the loss of their father.

And, on her death bed, at the age of 81, Ino had demanded that she be prim and glamorous. She wanted her still wonderfully soft hair curled and her face made up for when she saw her husband again, and Sakura had been the one to do it for her. After all, Ino had only had sons—something she constantly pouted about—and they didn't know the difference between a curling iron and a blow dryer.

As Sakura gently curled her best friend's hair, she battled with herself on her reasons for keeping her secret from her. The woman had been her best friend since childhood, had been with her through everything, so how could Sakura call herself her heart's sister if she kept lying to her?

If Sakura could write poetry about the way it felt to see Kakashi's handsome, youthful face again after so long, then she could write essays about the relief that flooded her when she dropped the elaborate genjutsu and all Ino had done was thrown her head back and laugh.

 _"Oh,"_ Ino had laughed thickly, a few tears rolling down her creased cheeks, "Sakura, you _sly_ bitch! _I knew it!"_

And all Sakura could do was laugh through her own tears and answer Ino's questions as best as she could.

"You'll be fine, Forehead Girl," Ino patted her hand gently, a soft smile curling her painted lips, "I believe in you."

Ino was beautiful when they buried her a few weeks later, and Sakura knew she was striking poses wherever she was because that was just so _Ino_ that anything else was not.

Soon, she was the last of them all and it had become increasingly difficult to keep herself from falling into a deep depression. It _hurt_ to see the faces of her loved ones in their children, or even their grandchildren, and couldn't imagine seeing a day where she'd have to bury her own.

So when her, youngest-her daughter-started becoming a grandmother, and her eldest son started wearing glasses for his failing vision, Sakura knew that it was time.

She discretely packed up her bags, gave herself horrible pneumonia, and prepared herself for a long journey. Pneumonia was something that she, even as Tsunade's successor, couldn't recover from in her "old" age, and she deterred her daughter's attempts at prolonging her life.

It was time for her to go, she'd said, and _God_ it hurt so deeply to look at their sorrow as they accepted her choice.

When she "dies," she does it in her sleep, so that her children don't have to see her take her supposed last breaths and she doesn't have to hear their cries. She heals and alters the stranger's body to make it look like her, confident in her ability to make it indistinguishable from her real self, gathers her things, and leaves.

Sakura lingers in Konoha under the guise of a traveling merchant for a few days to make sure that everything goes smoothly, and only leaves when the funeral is underway and the streets are empty.

She climbs the highest tree in Konoha and commits the sight of her home to memory, focusing more on the flourishing Hatake compound that had been a simple, singular home when she and Kakashi had first settled down, and then turns and runs away.

It's so selfish of her, she thinks as the gates to her beloved village grow smaller and smaller behind her, to fake her death so thoroughly and run away. But what choice did she have? All who knew of her condition were dead, and that is how it should be. To tell anyone else—even her children—would be a death sentence for her, and maybe even them.

Despite the decades of relative peace and prosperity that had flourished after the last Great War, there is still evil out in the world. Somewhere out there, there is another Orochimaru—another Madara—seeking vengeance on someone, or trying to reach an unobtainable goal like immortality.

If word got out, as it inevitably would, that immortality was not as elusive as they thought, and that there was a woman among them who did not age, then it would throw the balance of peace among the Hidden Villages.

And Sakura couldn't take that risk; she wanted her children, and her children's children, to grow up in world without the fear of Orochimaru and Kaguya. She didn't want them to know what war could do to the world. So, she runs.

And runs, and runs.

Sakura travels the world like she's dreamed of doing for years. She visits small hidden villages, doesn't ever tell anyone her name or make lasting relationships, and listens with a smile to the tales of the Legendary Team of Three that had ended the Fourth Great War.

She spends decades crossing continents while learning cultures and jutsus along the way, trains her body to be the best it can be and never leaves a trace of her presence behind. She avoids photographs like the plague, and does her best to maintain a low profile.

Every day, Sakura hopes to find Kakashi in the faces of strangers and aches when she never does.

And sometimes, she'll find herself in a gambling house because it reminds her of her long dead Shishou, or she'll spend hours in a clothing store trying on clothes she knows Ino would be _super and totally_ jealous of.

She goes out to eat at ramen bars, despite not really liking ramen all that much, because it reminds her of Naruto; and she inspects tomatoes with the type of scrutiny Sasuke would be proud of.

During moments of weakness, Sakura will sit in a bookstore and trace the covers of the "classic" Icha Icha collection with a fond smile and lose herself to her memories as she thinks of the tattered _Violence_ copy in the sealed scroll she reserves for her mementos.

And sometimes, she'll find herself walking into a toy store with the intent of buying gifts for her grandchildren, before remembering that they're not children anymore and she's supposed to be dead.

Those moments always sober her.

And Sakura knows she's always been slightly masochistic. How could she not be? She had a spent a whole decade pining after a boy who had left her on a bench when she was twelve and then tried to kill her enough times she'd been mentally and emotionally damaged by it. She subjected herself to brutal training under the Fifth Hokage to be something as selfish as being strong enough to stand with the men of Team 7.

She'd promised a dead man that she'd spend the rest of her long, long life searching for him.

And that is why, on her 125th birthday, Sakura returns to the Village Hidden in The Leaves after finding herself in the Land of Fire.

She had lost track of time during her travels, and was surprised when March 28th came around and it had already been over forty years since she'd left.

With an intensity that doesn't really surprise her, she longs to see her beloved village and her family—just once.

She convinces herself that she'll only stay for a day—just one—because it's her birthday and it'll be her present this year. There's no harm in that, right? She'll even adopt that elaborate genjutsu she perfected so long ago so that she can't be detected. It's a moment of weakness she'll allow herself to have just to see her family.

When Sakura comes up on Konoha's gates, she's hit with such a profound feeling of nostalgia that it makes her pause for a moment. The road towards the gates haven't changed at all, nor have the gates themselves.

If Sakura were prone to moments of delusion, she could almost convince herself that she was returning from a long mission. She'd make her way to the Hokage tower where she'd report in to Tsunade-shishou, or maybe even Kakashi, and then she'd meet with Naruto for post-mission ramen before going home to wait for her boyfriend.

But when the gates open, the illusion is shattered, and Sakura is struck by the contrasting feeling of comfort and novelty at the sight that greets her.

No longer is the village subtly hidden among the leaves, as there are booming sky scrapers and telephone poles interspaced along the streets. Everything seems larger, more profound, and modernized like Hidden Rain.

In the crater where the village had been rebuilt, there are apartments and buildings sprouting from the rock face—no doubt the work of Yamato's descendants—and there are twelve faces on Hokage mountain instead of the nine she had last known.

Kakashi's face on the damned rock is as masked as ever, and Sakura has to forcefully stem her tears while she laughs at seeing it again after so many years. Pictures are one thing, it's another to see the handsome dimensions of his face carved into rock so realistically. Tsunade's and Naruto's faces on the mountain makes her a knot take residence in her throat, because _she misses them so much,_ but she has a task in mind that she won't let her grief distract her from.

But then again, she already knew that returning to the village was bound to open old wounds, what's one moment of weakness in a long visit of many?

Drying her eyes, and ignoring the curious stares of the villagers, Sakura flips her henge's long blonde hair behind her and makes her way to the Hatake compound. As she takes her time walking down the street, observing the familiar and the unfamiliar, Sakura can't help but stare with wide eyes at the amount of people in the village with _pink_ hair.

When she was younger, she had been the only person in all of Konoha with pink hair; and then it was her and her son, then his daughter joined the mix, and when she had left there had only been a handful. _Now_ there are dozens of rosette locked people walking about!

Either her genes were strong, or her family was breeding like bunnies.

Whatever the case, it warms her heart to know that there is also a healthy amount of silver haired youths coming from the direction of the compound. She even purposely bumps into one of the young girls with strawberry blonde hair wearing the clan symbol, and is delighted to see her own brilliant green eyes staring back at her.

Her heart melts even further when she apologizes and the girl sends her an appeasing grin with Kakashi's dimple. These are all of her descendants, and she supposes that her husband was right when he said a piece of him would always exist somewhere.

Drawing up to the compound's entrance, Sakura comes up short at how _big_ it is. It wasn't _this_ large when she left! She stands there, mouth agape, as she takes in the hustling and bustling inside the compound's small streets. And to think this all started out with a small, two story home!

It's amazing, really, how she and Kakashi had been the start of this great clan's revival. It makes her heart swell, but it also makes her feel her husband's loss keenly. She's sure he would have loved to see what his clan has become.

"Excuse me, miss." A deep voice startles her out of her thoughts and she lifts sea green eyes to stare into such familiar deep grey orbs. "Are you lost?"

"Yeah!" She chirps at this man with Kakashi's bedroom eyes but someone else's platinum blonde hair (and is that _Ino's_ nose _?!)_ , "I'm trying to get to the market, can you point me in the right direction?"

"Sure." He points to her left, "Take this street all the way down, then make a right, then a quick left, then another right, head straight, and—" he pauses and scratches the back of his neck bashfully, "Actually, I can just take you there."

Sakura can't remember the walk to the market ever being this complicated, and she doesn't _really_ want to go there, but this is her _family_ so she'll humor him. And she kind of wants to know who his parents are.

"Oh, thank you!"

As they walk leisurely down the streets towards the market—and the walk is as complicated as he made it seem—Sakura tries fishing for information.

"Was that the Hatake clan district?" The blonde gives her a strange look but nods his head nonetheless.

"Yeah, it is," he says cautiously and Sakura waves her hand to ease his suspicion.

"Wow!" She gushes sweetly, "It's so much bigger than I thought! My grandmother said it used to be a lot smaller back in her day before we moved away."

"Oh?" He stops short, raising a sleek taupe eyebrow that he most definitely did not get from her, "You're not a Hatake?"

Sakura's lips twitch before she replies, "No, I'm not."

The unknown Hatake hums, shoves his hands into his pockets, and resumes walking. "I thought you were one of us because you look a lot like the main family."

He side-eyes her, "You actually kind of look a lot like Sakura-sama when she was young."

And her heart stutters in her chest because she _knew_ she should have at least changed her facial features and eye color, but she got comfortable with the assumption that everyone who knew her personally was most likely dead.

"Really?" Her voice comes out bemused rather than anxious and Sakura thanks the small things in life, "But I thought the Hatake had silver hair…?"

The blonde man shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips, "Nah, not after Sakura-sama. She had pink hair, y'know. My mom says her genes were strong, but they skipped me and got my sister."

"Is that why you have blonde hair?"

"Yeah," he laughs, shrugging, "My grandfather was a Yamanaka and he married into the clan, and I guess his genes were pretty strong, too." He sends her a svelte grin, "My grandfather said that his grandmother, Ino-sama, was Sakura-sama's best friend next to the Seventh Hokage, so I'm kind of a big deal—seeing as how I come from such important connections and all that."

 _Oh_ , _dear_.

Sakura bites her lip to keep from laughing; who would have thought that she would be speaking to Ino's grandson from five generations later? And was he _flirting_ with her? Oh no, that wouldn't do! The poor boy would have a heart attack if he knew he was trying to smooth talk his own ancestor!

"Ah," she coughs behind her hand, "So, um, you said Sakura-sama had pink hair, did any of her kids get it?"

He nods, "Yeah, her son used to have it, and they say he had the same shade of pink, but he passed away a while ago. It's rare to see that now, especially with people marrying into the clan and Kakashi-sama's genes being a lot stronger, but the current matriarch swears that her mother's hair was the exact shade of the cherry blossoms in the Spring. She's really old, though, so who knows...?"

Sakura's breath lodges in her throat even as the boy continues to chatter away. He is definitely one of Ino's, but all Sakura can think about is the fact that her daughter is _alive._ She didn't think any of her children would still be kicking after so long, but if she did her math correctly, her daughter should now be about 90 years old.

She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry. Of _course_ it would be the Daddy's Girl that would inherent Kakashi's penchant for living for an absurdly long time.

"…her name combined with her maiden name meant Springtime Cherry Blossom," The blonde Hatake was still speaking, "And it's her birthday today, and the sakura trees are in bloom, so…I was wondering if you would like to…?"

 _"Oh,"_ Sakura breathes, a little panicked because _he was asking his great-great-great-grandmother out on a date_ , "I'm sorry, I'm too busy helping my grandmother and, um," she subtly undid the henge on her wedding ring and held it up, "I'm married."

"Oh," she feels a little bad at the way the poor boy deflates at the rejection, but Sakura is sure he is only pursuing her because of her "resemblance" to _Sakura-sama, "_ Ah, well, the pretty ones are always taken, anyway. The market's right around the corner!"

He turns to walk away and Sakura, for the sake of curiosity, quickly grasps his wrist before he gets away from her, "Wait! Thanks for your help! What's your name?"

His answering smirk is _so_ Ino. "It's Inoichi. Y'know, after the war hero? I'm related to him, too."

This time, Sakura does laugh. "Then I guess you really are kind of a big deal, huh?"

He simply grins in response and waves goodbye, shunshin'ing away and leaving Sakura standing alone by the entrance to the market place. Pushing shaky fingers through her henge's fringe, Sakura sighs and walks into the alleyway. It wouldn't do to be recognized as the blonde girl that looks like _Sakura-sama_ again, so she adjusts her henge and leaves the alleyway as a nondescript girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly larger nose.

Now, it's time to find her daughter.

This time, instead of walking down the street, Sakura takes to the rooftops. A few of the ANBU there give a her a curious glance, but shrug it off as another one of the newest generation's odd habits. When she arrives at the compound, she makes herself invisible with a genjutsu she learned in Hidden Star and takes to the trees.

It doesn't take her long to find the main house, even with the new streets, as she had spent decades of her life going to and from the now large home. She leaps into the large cherry blossom tree in the backyard she had Kakashi install when they first married, and settles against it. It had been her favorite tree; not because it was her namesake, but because she and Kakashi had spent so much time of their married lives nestled against this tree and making memories.

When her children were born, it had become their favorite tree, too. Sakura used to love spending time in the tree's branches reading some medical tome or novel; and when her children were infants, it wasn't unusual to see her hidden amongst the sakura blossoms—her hair blending in with the delicate pinks of the blooms—with a baby cradled against her chest.

Now, her feet find purchase on the highest branch and leans against the tree with a clear view of the back porch. She traces the kanji of her and her husband's names carved into the wood, her forehead resting against the smooth bark, and remembers. She had been newly pregnant when she did it with a chakra scalpel, drunk off of the knowledge that they had created a little life that would soon be the personification of their love.

Sakura traces it fondly, a small smile curling her lips, and if she closes her eyes, she thinks she can almost remember the way it felt when Kakshi swept her into his arms that sweet spring day to pepper her face with happy kisses. If she tries hard enough, she can almost remember how the intoxicating taste of his lips made her toes curl.

She doesn't know for how long she sits there. It could have been minutes or a few hours, but she subconsciously straightens when she hears slow shuffling heading in the direction of the porch. A breath seizes in her throat and her heart twinges painfully in her chest when an old woman with snowy hair and sagging skin hobbles towards the porch's railing. She lays a willowy hand on the wood, delicately traces the petals of a fallen sakura blossom that rests there, and softly smiles.

Sakura doesn't dare avert her eyes, despite feeling such profound sadness that almost makes it hard to breathe. This is her youngest child—the last of her children—and Sakura's eyes follow the path time has carved into her. She absentmindedly traces the smooth skin on her own hands and feels, not for the first time, a feeling of such deep _wrongness._ It's supposed to be the other way around. Sakura should have died long ago.

A little seed of denial plants itself in her heart; maybe this old woman isn't her daughter, maybe it's someone else in her family. But then she lifts her eyes and Sakura knows those eyes like the back of her hand—after all, they are the same ones that stare back in the mirror.

Sakura's daughter lifts the petal to her lips with shaky hands, heedless to the way her mother watches her with pained eyes. That is, until a sharp pang of sorrow hits Sakura hard enough that she has a momentary lapse in control of her chakra and her appearance fades away. Sakura's daughter abruptly lifts her head and stares directly at her, first with wide eyes and then with a large smile.

And Sakura (because wisdom comes with age, but the heart is the source of all stupidity) smiles beatifically as the wind blows through her hair. This is her last surviving child, and _that_ is the smile she's loved for so many years, so she can't help but outwardly show her love.

"Baa-chan?"

But it's not to be, because as soon as her daughter turns her head to address the male voice that had spoken, Sakura fades back to invisibility.

"What are you staring at?" The boy asks and _baa-chan_ swivels her head to where she had thought she'd seen her mother last and smiles sadly.

"Ah," she says so quietly Sakura has to strain to listen, "Nothing, dear! Now, tell me about your day while we find your mother."

The boy starts talking about the Academy a mile a minute as he walks away but doesn't notice the matriarch when she turns to level bright beryl green eyes directly where Sakura sits. But Sakura knows that she sees nothing because she had woven the invisibility genjutsu tighter around herself like a blanket.

"Happy Birthday, Mama," her daughter whispers to the wind, "I miss you, but I'll be seeing you soon."

Sakura doesn't do anything to stop the tears that cut down her cheeks as she watches her walk away, because no…she won't.

She sits there in silence, hidden amongst the cherry blossoms, until the sun sets. Returning to Konoha was a bad idea, but—again—Sakura knows that she is nothing if not slightly masochistic. When she stands on legs riddled by pins and needles, her stomach grumbles unhappily and she thinks that a few more moments of pain wouldn't hurt—for nostalgia's sake, at least.

A nondescript, average girl sits in a restaurant that had once been a shack called Ichiraku Ramen, and orders two bowls. No one pays attention to the way she stares at the pictures of the Legendary Team 7 on the walls, and if they do, they smile indulgently because it seems like the hero worship for that team will never end.

They were heroes, despite everything, and had made it into a part of the Academy's curriculum.

Later, a nondescript, average girl traces the engraved kanji of Hatake Kakashi's grave and lays a red carnation* on its smooth marble surface. Then she visits and offers prayers to each of the Rookie Nine's graves, lingering at Ino Yamanaka, Sai, Uchiha Sasuke, and Uzumaki Naruto.

A passing woman finds it odd that the girl takes the time to lay bouquets on each grave of Haruno Sakura and Hatake Kakashi's children, and decides she'll keep an eye on this new girl she has never seen before.

But she never sees the nondescript, average girl in Konoha again; and when the passing woman dies many years later, she wonders what had happened to her. And the blonde Hatake with Ino's nose—despite the rejection—can't help but look for the pretty blonde woman that so resembled Sakura-sama, but never finds her.

Sakura leaves Konoha when the clock marks the end of her 125th birthday, and never returns.

 **.**

 **.**

 ** _tbc_**

* * *

 _*A red carnation, according to The Languages of Flowers, means "My heart aches for you."_


	4. Oblivion

**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.**

 **Revised 15 Jan 2017**

 _"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream."_

* * *

 **Oblivion**

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

The first time Sakura sees Kakashi, after years and years of solitude and barely blinking in hopes that she'd catch a glimpse of someone who lived solely in her memories, it's entirely by accident.

It's a beautiful summer day, exactly 100 years since his death, and she's in the market—standing before an eggplant stand, to be exact. She examines and inspects them just as her husband had taught her so long ago, and tries to recall that awful recipe of his he loved to make.

Her lips twitch as she's taken back to a memory of being in her old apartment's kitchen; back when she and Kakashi had first started dating, back when things had still been so novel and brilliant. She sees, in her mind's eye, the waning sunlight cast pastel violet and melon colored shadows across the contours of his face as she sips from a glass of water. She feels, again, the summer breeze drifting from the opened patio door to caress her cheeks and tease the light wisps of hair at the nape of her neck as Kakashi swoops down to place a gentle kiss on her water moistened lips.

Her home was the only place they could go to without being subjected to the villager's—and even their friends'—curious and patronizing stares, and Kakashi had insisted on grilled eggplant for dinner. Sakura had never really cared for the vegetable; it was mushy, bland, and though she was an adequate chef, eggplant's culinary appeal was lost to her. In fact, the only time she had ever bothered with it was when she had once found it at the back of her refrigerator after a long shift at the hospital. She had been famished and all too exhausted to venture out for food, so she accepted that the slightly withered eggplant would be her dinner for the night.

She remembers holding it in her hand and eyeing the oblong vegetable dubiously and resorting to calling her mother to ask what in the hell she was supposed to do with it. The older woman's solution—bless her heart—was to batter and fry it. Therefore, when her lazy boyfriend started sprinkling an unholy amount of salt over the clean slices, Sakura tried not to think about how quickly she was beginning to associate eggplant with clogged arteries.

Kakashi had sworn on his beloved book collection and Pakkun's nose that his recipe was solid. And Sakura, because she loved the man with a ferocity that sometimes surprised her, believed him.

That was until she took a bite of the seemingly appetizing meal and was barely able to keep her lips from pinching together at how utterly inedible it was. Even so, she had told her expectant boyfriend that it was great, of course, even as her taste buds protested, because his answering smile had made it all worth it.

Sakura smiles softly at the memory as her fingers caress the smooth skin of the violet vegetable. It's one of the most mundane of them all, but she finds that it's one of her favorite memories of him. When she picks up what she thinks is the perfect candidate for that terribly salty meal, she lifts clear eyes to the man tending the stand to ask how much it'd cost her.

They say that when you see the love of your life, the world stops, and it's like nothing else exists except for the two of you. And Sakura knows it's true, because that's how it felt when she _finally_ saw Kakashi as a man and not as her childhood sensei.

But now, Sakura's first thought when the bustling market place begins to catch up to lost time is that fate could be so, so cruel.

Because the world doesn't stop, and nothing fades away except for that wall she's painstakingly built to deter the ache that comes from being alone. After all, Sakura had already experienced that earth shattering emotion that comes from gazing upon the love of her life. Now, it was all a matter of encounters and recognition.

And it appears that she's too late.

The old man gives her an achingly familiar eye smile, his own lips curling slightly at the edges and asks if she needs assistance. And Sakura would know those eyes, those wretched wrinkles, those lips, that _mole,_ even if she had been blind her entire life.

Her breath halts in her throat, unable to push passed the cotton that's settled there, and perhaps she had stilled for a moment too long, because the old man—Kakashi, who else could it be but _Kakashi_ —tilts his head curiously as his brows furrow in concern.

"Miss?"

His voice draws the breath from her throat and _oh,_ how she has missed that voice. It's weathered, and the accent is not quite the same, but the underlying cool baritone is strictly her husband's.

"Are you alright?"

Sakura feels the tentatively mended strings of her heart fray as the she's once again reminded that time will not stop for anyone, especially not her. What are the odds of finding him in this life, as she promised she would, in a small farming village so far from the elemental nations where he was born?

One hundred years she had wandered, searching, for a time where'd she'd spend her life with him again. And how cruel was fate that she would him at the end of his.

She wants to laugh, she wants to rage, but most of all, she wants to cry. Because this version of Hatake Kakashi must be, at least, 80 years old; which means that he had been born some twenty odd years after the original's death. If she had come to this small, poor farming village fifty years earlier, then perhaps she might have been reunited with him sooner. She wouldn't have had to fester in her heartbreak for 100 years, she could have spent them with _him_.

"Would you like to buy that, Miss?"

But he calls her _Miss._

And it strikes her that it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because he doesn't _know_ her and she is cursed. Morose beryl eyes glance at how greatly the smooth skin of her hands and exposed forearms contrasts the paper wrinkled skin of the man before her. It wouldn't have made a difference if she had found him then, or if she had found him tomorrow, the outcome would remain the same.

Sakura would _always_ outlive Kakashi.

In each world, in every lifetime, in every version of reality, Sakura would be forced to watch him die.

The realization makes her lower lip tremble sorrowfully. She doesn't think she could handle that heartbreak over and over again. She can't. Not yet—perhaps not ever.

Appetite and light heart gone, Sakura gently places the eggplant back in the glossy pile of its kin and swallows the thickness that's taken residence in her throat.

"Ah, sorry," she smiles softly at her husband's reincarnation but avoids his eyes, "It's odd, but I seem to have lost my appetite."

"Well," the man quips as a smile quirks his own lips, "I hope you find it. Eggplant should be a staple in everyone's home."

Sakura can't help it, it's such a Kakashi thing to say that she laughs despite her sadness. And because she also can't help but want to speak to him for a little longer (it's been _one hundred years)_ , she says, "I'll tell you what, when I find my missing appetite I'll be sure to visit your stand, Ojii-san."

"Botan," the old man— _Botan_ , not Kakashi—supplies helpfully with a friendly smile. "My name is Botan."

"Botan-san," she corrects and feels proud of the way her voice comes out evenly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, but I must get going. I'll be seeing you."

Botan smiles at her and she sees Kakashi, but _this_ is Botan, and she is nothing to him _because_ he is _Botan_.

So Sakura turns away with a wave, and never sees Botan again.

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

"Sakura."

Her face feels pleasantly warm, almost as if the sun is shining through a canopy of leaves to highlight her face, and she turns her head towards the gentle voice calling her name.

"Mama, it's time to wake up!"

Her eyes feel heavy and reluctant to open, as though she'd slept for an eternity and it wasn't enough.

"Mama! Wake up!"

But a smile curls her lips despite her exhaustion because her family is coaxing her awake with their usual morning antics. She loves them so, _so much_ and she can't image a world without them. She can't fathom a world without the lingering scent of ozone and Konoha's leaves in her bed, a world without Sunday morning blueberry pancakes and cartoons, or a world without little bare feet padding across the floorboards of her home.

A soft hand lightly caresses the curve of her cheek and she tilts her head towards it with a sigh.

"Darling, please open your eyes."

Sakura groans unhappily into her pillow. She doesn't want to wake up; everything feels so nice—so comforting. It's as though she hasn't felt this peaceful in years and she's unwilling to let it go. But Kakashi is murmuring her name so gently, so lovingly, and she can hear the tinkling sound of her children's laughter from somewhere beyond the whistling wind.

Her heart calls for them as if she's spent decades away from them, and the oddness of it makes her brow furrow in confusion. It's such a displaced feeling; she saw them yesterday, she put her babies to bed and fell asleep in the comforting cradle of her husband's arms. So why does she feel this penetrating urgency to hold them in her arms and never let go?

Rose hued lashes flutter against delicate cheekbones as they fight the heaviness that keeps them from opening. She feels so heavy and yet weightless, like she's nothing more than a rain cloud in the sky of her dreams. Something about it tickles her subconscious, but she chooses to ignore it in favor of languidly curling into herself.

"Mm, five more minutes, loves." Her words are muffled by the fabric of her pillow that smells curiously like the spring, and she hides the smile that comes from hearing Kakashi's chuckles and her son's whines.

"Mama! You need to wake up so you can see us again!"

What?

Her youngest son has always been a peculiar child and very prone to exaggeration, so she writes it off as the jabbering of a zealous six-year-old but there's something unsettling about the way he says it...as if she'd been gone for a long, long time.

"What do you mean, baby? Mama can sleep for a little longer—it's okay."

Her son isn't the one who replies to her drowsy words, but Kakashi.

"You need to open your eyes, Sakura." His voice is strong as he runs his fingers through her hair, and once again she's hit with that strange feeling of _yearning._ "Wake up."

"Yes, Mama! Wake up, please." This comes from her eldest son, and she feels him place gentle kisses on her cheeks while her other two children run their baby soft hands along her arms, "We miss you."

Well, when they put it so sweetly, who is she to deny them?

"M'kay," she hums as she rolls over, and then opens her eyes.

Only to catch herself from falling to her death after rolling off of the tree branch she had fallen asleep on the night prior. Her feet land solidly on the thick branch below the one she'd slept on, and she falls heavily to her knees with an agonized cry.

 _A dream._ It had all been a _dream_.

It all comes back to her in stunning clarity: her immortality, her family's death, the _curse_.

But it had all felt so _real!_ She could still smell Kakashi's scent on the pillows—or was that the smell of the forest she was in? _Was it?_ Were her children's hands _truly_ as soft as they were in her dream, or was it just the wind? _Did their voices really sound like that?_ Or was it her subconscious trying to fill in the blanks? _She can't remember._

With dawning horror, Sakura realizes that she's beginning to forget the little things about her family. Her shaking hands desperately fumble in her pack for her special scroll and unseals the folder with all of her family's pictures. She pulls out a family portrait and traces the contours of her family's faces over and over again until her fingers drag on the surface.

Salty tears carve grooves into the planes of her cheeks and she holds the picture close to her heart as she weeps. She's never dreamt of them before—never. At least, not that she could remember. But this horribly beautiful dream was so _vivid_ and _clear_ it was like time hadn't passed at all. And she can't fool herself into believing that—she can't deny the turning of centuries.

It seems like an omen. No, more like a reminder—a reminder that she must not forget.

After that first painful encounter with Kakashi's reincarnation, she stopped looking for him. It was too much for her to build up her walls of solitude and strength to have them fall apart at the mere sight of her dead lover's face in a stranger. So, she stopped.

For the last one hundred and forty-two years, Sakura has wandered the Earth aimlessly, learning new things and training herself into exhaustion. Her theory was that if she was exhausted, she'd be too numb to think about how solitary her life had become.

If she was so tired she could barely function, then she'd be too tired to stew in her guilt.

But this _dream_ disrupts everything hanging in her delicately crafted balance. The pain that comes from having her family brutally ripped from her again— _just like that,_ in the literal blink of an eye—is too great.

Sakura can't do it again. She can _not._

Heaving sobs throttle her body as she lifts her hands to hover in front of her face. These hands of hers have the power to end it all—to end the endless cycle of searching for ghosts of her past and the suffering that comes with it.

It'd be so _easy_ , so simple to send a burst of chakra into her heart to stop its beating. Sakura thinks of how formulating a vial of poison that'd kill her in her sleep would be so _effortless_ it's almost child's play _._

And then she'd be with her family again, wherever they are.

 _Oh, how far she's fallen_. That pesky little voice in her head that she thought she'd gotten rid of long ago makes an untimely appearance to mock her pitiful state, but Sakura is too aggrieved to worry about her schizophrenic tendencies.

Just _one_ burst of chakra is all it would take to end it all. Just one.

But when she lays her hands on her chest, her chakra doesn't come and her face tilts towards the starry heavens as sobs rip from her throat.

She can't do it. She can't fail Kakashi, she'd _promised_ him—she'd gave him her word. What else did she have to her name other than her word?

And Sakura _misses_ him. She'd give anything to see him—to hold him and kiss him—again; and if there's a chance she might have that again even if for a moment, either in this century or the next, how could she not take it?

The possibilities are too great to ignore, especially when she had already met one of Kakashi's reincarnations.

Sakura knows she'll see him again, so she lowers her hands, gathers her things, and—after years of wandering without a purpose—sets off towards the nearest village to make up for lost time.

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

 ** _tbc_**


	5. Calantha

**Disclaimer: All Standard Disclaimers Apply**

 _"You must know...surely, you must know it was all for you."_ \- Mr. Darcy

* * *

 **Calantha**

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

When she had been a child, Sakura remembers sitting on her father's lap in the shadows of the night, illuminated solely by the glistening stars and the quiet moon. She'd listen to the strong rumble of his voice as he combed his fingers through her lengthening hair as he spoke of many things—little things, grand things. Sometimes even stories Sakura was sure she was too young to comprehend, but still eager to nonetheless.

 _"_ _The world is ever changing, darling,"_ he'd once said. _"And when we are gone, it will change, and change, until it is unrecognizable to those who had seen it at its beginning."_

 _"_ _What does that mean?"_

 _"_ _It means, Sakura-chan, that time stops for no one."_

Back then, she hadn't understood what purpose he'd had in pointing out the movement of constellations or any of his philosophical thoughts on their existence; but as she grew older, Sakura came to realize that circumstance has a way of enlightening even the dimmest of minds.

She remembers how she'd called him weird and laughed at him, but one day Sakura—nearly one thousand years since those nights beneath the stars—had passed by what she _knew_ was a small hidden village and felt nothing. It was then that Sakura recognized the meaning in her father's philosophy.

Time had left her behind in a quickly fading world and she, in her self-pity, had been oblivious to it all. As she walked through the hidden village's newly paved streets, she saw that what had once been a modest civilization of nomadic clans was now a flourishing city with new languages and foreign cultures.

When she stopped at what she presumed to be the location of their Kage's tower, she found a King and civilian guards. And when she hid away to expand her senses, she noticed that the distinct buzz against her skin that came from foreign chakra was missing.

Sakura had reeled back in disbelief. Had she gotten so self-absorbed and complacent to where she'd overlook something so monumental? Horrified, she sat there for hours, expanding her senses until she found at least one other shinobi source of chakra, and stopped only when she came dangerously close to chakra exhaustion.

The final count: zero.

Where were the protectors of the city—the ninja that would fight their enemies and their wars? It was as though the shinobi arts were not being taught, as though the peace that had encompassed the world had done away with them all together. And as Sakura traveled to more and more places where villages had been, only to find cities in their place, she encountered the same phenomena.

And soon, Sakura discovered—by no grand accomplishment of her own—that she had become the strongest shinobi in the world by virtue of being the _only one_ left.

So, she watched with newly-opened eyes—eyes not solely focused on finding Kakashi that they'd blithely miss the progression of man—as the world around her continued to change.

She watched as the five Great Shinobi Nations dissolved into extinction. The Land of Water became islands called Okinawa and Japan, the Land of Wind became the Middle East and parts of a continent called Africa, the Land of Earth was replaced by Europe, the Land of Lightning became a part of a country called China, and her home—the Land of Fire—was divided into smaller countries.

And the world Sakura has known all her life—the world with the dominating presence of shinobi—disappears.

Her people—her kind—become legends and then soon fade into obscurity to later become the work of fiction. With pained eyes, she watches as shinobi and all their wars, their discoveries, and their _history_ are erased.

All her accomplishments—all the blood she'd shed and battles she'd fought to become who she is—are now, truly, her own. And all the people she had ever met and known, and those she had come to deeply love, exist now only in her memories.

 _How strange is it to witness the extinction of your own species._

Sakura silences the voice in the back of her head, despite how much she agrees with it. The knowledge is dispiriting—depressing, even—but serves as an incentive to search for a familiar face in this new, everchanging world.

Because shinobi no longer exist, Sakura finds it easy to apply simple henges to herself without the worry of anyone recognizing her. Though she loves her pink hair, the world has become conservative, and those who used to have naturally flamboyant hair like herself have all but disappeared. She thinks that the closest thing there is to her pink locks are the red of the nomadic tribes she'd seen in the northern parts of what used to be Earth country.

In this particular century, Sakura henges her long hair into that of a beautiful strawberry blonde and allows some rose to bleed through her roots to serve as a reminder of who she is and her beginnings. It's not pink, but it draws the eye wherever she goes; the attention is familiar to her, and therefore comforting.

It is on one of these moments where talks of her coloring are following her in this beautiful land called Athens (and the voice in the back of her mind whispers _Kumogakure_ as a reminder) that Sakura hears the faint, urgent calling of a familiar voice.

"Miss! You dropped this, Miss!"

And when she turns, she's struck dumb at the sight of _Hinata_ daintily pushing passed curious onlookers with a pouch held tightly in her hand. Sakura only gives the pouch a passing glance, knowing that inside there are only tea leaves from Wind, and instead focuses on this Athenian girl created in Hinata's image.

 _Of course,_ how silly of her to think that the rules of reincarnation would only apply to Kakashi! Sakura bites her lip to keep a smile from blooming on her face and watches as her friend's soul makes her way towards her.

When she draws near, doubling over to catch her breath, Sakura's beryl eyes zero in on the girl's own downcast orbs and she waits for her to straighten with baited breath. When this girl who is not quite Hinata finally meets her eyes, Sakura is still slightly disappointed despite knowing the improbability of the Byakugan's survival.

The Athenian girl's eyes are a pale—almost lavender—gray and are quite like the Hyuuga Clan's most defining feature, but the glaring difference is in the pupils—which are fairly evident in this girl.

Sakura realizes with a start that this version of Hinata has been speaking to her in Greek, and though she has actively tried keeping up with the new languages rising in the world, the different Grecian dialects have always evaded her. Nevertheless, for Hinata, Sakura would try.

"Ah, I'm sorry," She tries very hard not to wince when her horrible accent makes Hinata's lips twitch. "I didn't hear what you just said. It is very loud here."

And it is! Prior to being stopped, Sakura had been browsing through the busy market in search of provisions for her latest journey to other parts of the world—but that isn't why she hadn't heard what Hinata had said.

No, it is the fact that her mind could not stop focusing on this Athenian's features and comparing them to the image of Hinata she held in her memories. Were it not for the different eyes, they would be identical—they even have the same long, dark hair!

"Come," Hinata gestures towards a quiet alleyway. "We'll speak here."

Once they cross into the dank, slightly smelly shadows of the alleyway, the voices fade into the background as Hinata presses the pouch into Sakura's hand.

"You dropped this, Miss," Hinata says with a soft smile. "I wanted to return it to you."

Sakura smiles kindly and opens the pouch to pull out a crinkled tea leaf. "You didn't have to, it is only tea from the East."

As she watches with slight concern mixed with plenty amusement, it appears that the Athenian Hinata has inherited the original's penchant for shyness and exuberant mortification. A bright flush crawls up her neck, over the porcelain skin of her face to the tip of her ears, and Sakura's muscles tense in preparation to catch the poor girl in case she also has the tendency to faint.

Thankfully, she doesn't, and she instead giggles in embarrassment.

"Oh, dear," she giggles behind her hand, her pale eyes glancing beyond the alleyway's entrance to the people passing by, "I pushed by so many people! May the goddess forgive such discourtesy!"

Sakura stops the sharp arch of her eyebrow by sheer force of will. The Hinata she had known, as traditional as she had been, wasn't one to worship the gods or ask forgiveness from them. Come to think of it, after Kaguya's insane disposition and the slightly traumatic debacle with the moon, no one from and before her generation did.

Therefore, as her trained eyes clandestinely take in the religious robes adorning this Athenian's form, she can't help but be reminded that she doesn't belong here. It silences her for a moment too long, because the air between them becomes awkward until the girl gently clears her throat.

"Forgive me," She says. "I haven't introduced myself."

The girl smiles and places a hand to her chest. "I am Artemisia, priestess to the goddess Artemis. May I know your name?"

In the span of two seconds: Sakura falls into a panic because no one has _ever_ asked her for her name, then realizes that _Sakura_ is incredibly foreign, and comes up with a name she hopes is befitting of the region.

"Calantha," Sakura replies as she places her own hand over her heart. "My name is Calantha."

Artemisia smiles and she looks so much like _her_ Hinata that Sakura can't help but refer to her as such in her head.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Calantha," Hinata smiles. "You have a beautiful name."

Sakura thanks her, and once again the following silence is slightly awkward. She doesn't want to part ways with her new friend, even if she's just an imitation of a loved one who'd lived long, long ago, but she also doesn't have a viable reason to stay. Hinata seems to notice her reluctance to leave and clears her throat with the type of grace and poise that her predecessor was known for.

"Are you a traveler?" Hinata asks, eyes drifting to her hair. "I'd remember if you were from around these parts. Your coloring is unforgettable."

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Sakura reflects on the irony of those words. A lot of people would say the same about Hinata, for the Hyuuga Clan's greatest distinction was their eyes.

"Yes." Sakura nods as she adjusts the leather pack resting on her back. "I was searching for some food to take on my journey West, towards Rome. Now, I am looking for a place to rest my odd colored head."

When Sakura winks at her own joke, the priestess giggles behind a hand before clearing her throat.

"Of course! Rome is a beautiful city—so I've heard." Hinata shifts her weight, her fingers coming together familiarly as she averts her eyes shyly. "If you'd like, you may accompany me to my temple for a place to sleep. It's quite lonely there, and we don't get many visitors this time of year. I'm sure the younger priestesses would love to hear stories of your travels."

Despite swallowing the glee and hasty 'yes!' that bubbles up her throat, Sakura still can't help the broad grin that stretches her cheeks. But of course, she can't seem too eager, so she wipes the grin off her face and shakes her head—for appearances, that is.

"Oh, no! I couldn't do that! I don't want to be a burden!"

"Only until you are ready to depart on your journey!" Hinata insists. "A day or two, perhaps?"

Pretending to think about it, Sakura hums to herself before acquiescing. "Well, alright. Maybe for a night…or two…"

"Lovely! I don't believe I've found what I'm looking for today, so let's head back, shall we?"

Nodding, she gestures at the smaller woman to lead the way. The two women gracefully slide out of the smelly alleyway into the bustling market crowd, and Sakura notes that Hinata has a slight bounce to her step—one she's sure mirrors her own.

The farther they get from the crowded center of town, the cooler it becomes. The weather is slowly leading itself to summer, Hinata tells her, but the closer they are to shore, the longer it takes for summer to reach them. Sakura doesn't mind it all that much. It reminds her of Springtime in Konoha when the weather was too cool to turn on the ceiling fan, but warm enough to open the windows to let an errant wind rustle her house plants.

The walk to the temple is long but Sakura finds it quite pleasant. They cross open fields of wildflowers, through farmland, and rolling hills of wild wheatgrass. On her travels, Sakura usually takes to the trees as she always insists on the quickest and more elusive route. Though she is a ninja and therefore undetectable to others, she rarely indulges in leisurely strolls to her destination even though she has—literally—all the time in the world. Now, she takes the time to marvel at the differences between this time and the one she'd been born to.

As always, there is no other sign of chakra. Sometimes, Sakura will feel a curious pulse of spiritual energy against her much, _much_ larger pool and she'll pause and feel it out. Of course, she never lets herself be too hopeful as most of the time the probing comes from a priestess, a monk, or an oracle—anyone with enough reign over their spiritual energy to be conscious of others.

None of these compare to the feel and weight of chakra, though, so they're not worth looking in to.

In this time, like the many others before it, there is a complete lack of technological advancement. It's something Sakura has had to work to get used to, as the lack of everyday things she'd once been accustomed to has been a major inconvenience. Her inner voice constantly bemoans the loss of lightbulbs, electricity, conditioner, and her beloved hair dryer.

At least the Romans have working plumbing, or so she's heard.

Sometimes, she can't believe how humanity has let itself waste away to the point where they've had to start over. Or rather, peace had made it so that the ancient, violent way of the shinobi was discarded and erased to lend way to newer teachings.

On her travels, Sakura had actually found piles and piles of valuable and irreplaceable scrolls containing prized and precious jutsu burned to ashes. The only way she'd known was by the faint traces of chakra coming from the destroyed seals the scrolls had once been covered in.

They'd gotten so complacent, and archaic, that older generations had forgotten and incoming generations were never taught—thus the regression of man.

Sakura distinctly remembers how humanity had once lent itself to being a greater species, how they had come from being simple humans without any chakra to that of near super-human and godlike beings. Or so she'd learnt from the history books.

As each day passes, Sakura fears that humanity will choose to remain where it is in this outdated version of itself; but she hopes that man's unwavering tenacity will propel it forward to where it once was and could be.

A dainty cough jolts her from her thoughts and Sakura discretely side eyes Hinata as she drinks from her waterskin greedily, the girl's porcelain skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Hiding a frown, Sakura directs her eyes towards the horizon. That is another thing that is different in this world; in hers, Hinata would have been content and eased by their slow walk. In this, Artemisia hides her labored breath out of embarrassed pride.

They are not the same people and Sakura knows this. Nothing makes it as blatant as this; and yet, she finds it so hard to accept.

Her inner voice stomps out the superimposed image of Hinata Sakura has been seeing in her new friend's place, and leaves Artemisia where she stands.

It's sobering.

Once they make it over the small hill that leads to the Temple of Artemis, the terrain smoothens out to beautiful plains and gardens. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun, Sakura can see scattered pairs of white robes shuffling among them. The image is beautiful and peaceful, and perhaps in another world, Sakura could have been a part of it.

"This is my home."

Glancing at Artemisia, despite knowing they're not the same person, Sakura finds her so identical to her old friend that it is completely striking. The waning sunlight smooths along her cheekbones and the rest of the world fades as Sakura is taken back to a mission in Earth country back when she had been 18 and partnered with her old friend.

She'd never been as close to Hinata as she'd been with Ino, but the woman had been a dear friend until her death. For a moment, she misses the soft-spoken girl so deeply that even the breath in her lungs seems painful.

Artemisia leads her through wild grass to the marbled steps of the temple and while the younger priestesses avert their gazes demurely, the older ones observe her carefully.

 _Of course they would,_ Sakura thinks as she keeps her eyes respectfully downcast. _They probably don't get many visitors._

Stopping at the large statue of their patron goddess Artemis, Artemisia gracefully lowers herself to her knees and bows her head in prayer. Sakura, with the elegance borne from being a kunoichi for centuries, copies her movements and follows suit. Though she doesn't know what is being said, she believes that Artemisia would appreciate the gesture.

After a moment of murmured prayers, Artemisia stands with a small smile and sweeps her arm in a wide arc before her. "This is the temple of Artemis; my duties are to study healing and instruct the younger ones in the arts."

"It's beautiful," Sakura says with a smile and Artmesia beams in response.

The temple is built out of a soft white marble—the type that, no matter the weather, always feels cool to the touch. Along the bottom of the pillars are sweeping and curling vines of ivy interspaced with blooms of various colors. Her ears are full of the sounds of the white curtains flapping gently with the wind and she tilts her head towards the sound of girlish laughter.

It is a soothing and pleasant feeling to be surrounded by innocence, but the most striking feature of the temple is the statue of Artemis itself. The goddess' likeness is carved entirely out of marble and she's impressed with how well the artist was able to capture the determined set of her mouth and eyes. With a hand reaching behind her to finger an arrow and the other resting on the head of a young stag, Sakura thinks that if she believed in benevolent gods, she'd pick this one.

Set on a pedestal, the statue towers over the two smaller women and watches over the gardens with blind eyes. Shinobi only believed in the god of death for that was the only higher being they answered to—oh, and Kaguya; but Kaguya was as far from benevolent as malice could get.

Artemisia gazes at the statue with such fondness that Sakura struggles to keep her lips from quirking into a frown. In moments like these, she wishes she were able to place such staunch faith and belief in a higher being. For all these years, all she's ever felt is alone and it would have been nice if she could have turned to the gods for support.

But Sakura has always been the rational and logical one. The closest she'd come to acknowledging a benevolent god was accepting Naruto's story of reincarnated brothers; and even then Hagoromo was only concerned for his sons' wellbeing. If such a being only cared for the fates of two men, why would any other care for the woes of an unfortunate soul such as herself?

Sakura is used to being overlooked and ignored.

So why waste breath in prayer to a god who would not listen, much less reply?

"Come," Artemisia says, walking past her towards the gardens. "I'll show you where you'll be staying tonight. My quarters are just beyond those hills there."

Artemisia leads her to a small house right off a well beaten path bordered by tall cypress trees. The house isn't much, more of a concrete box with a terracotta roof, but it feels warm and lively when the two women step into the din of clinking plates and sweet laughter.

The voices hush for a moment at their entrance, but then start up again at seeing one of their own—if quieter than before. Natural light filters through the open windows bordered by true blue curtains that wave gently, providing a soothing breeze in the otherwise hot room. Sakura sweeps her gaze across what seems to be the living and dining area, noting the bouquets of flowers laid here and there.

The priestesses here appear to be around Artemisia's age, maybe even a bit older. They speak to each other amicably as they flitter about, completing mundane tasks, and each girl wears a flowing white chiton, held together at the waist by a golden rope. Some have their hair swept into elaborate braids, others into buns, and Sakura notes with amusement that they all have ribbons in their hair.

Even Artemisia, with her long raven hair let loose, has a cerulean ribbon tied around her head. For a moment, Sakura feels embarrassingly out of place. She feels like she's bearing too much skin around them, somehow feeling their disapproval imprinting itself on every inch. Their chitons flow down to their ankles, whereas her strophion barely grazes the tops of her thighs.

She had made an attempt to fit in, buying attire she'd seen in other Greek cities, so that she wouldn't look too out of place. Her preferred attire for traveling are pants—any type, as long as they are _pants_ —but she isn't dumb enough to walk around in men's clothing, lest she have to make a misogynistic pig disappear.

So, she'd gotten this strophion even though fashion dictate she leave one breast uncovered, but there is no way in hell she'd go _that_ far. Still, she feels like a harlot among these virginal priestesses and a mortifying flush crawls up her neck.

Startled out of her thoughts by Artemisia's hand on her bare arm, Sakura smiles in response to her companion's unspoken concern. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts up her nose, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since that morning, and is secretly pleased when her new friend pilfers a loaf from a basket on what seems to be the dining table.

"Artemisia!" A petite blonde girl cries out, her fine brows pulling together. "That is for the High Priestess!"

Shockingly, this version of Hinata _rolls her eyes_ at the other girl and says, "The High Priestess won't miss it, nor will she know of its existence if you do not tell her."

The other girl huffs as Artemisia takes her leave, walking down a short hallway. Stunned, Sakura can only follow. The Hinata she had known was demure to a fault and would have stuttered out an apology and then gone the extra mile by helping them bake more. _Artemisia_ breaks off a piece of the stolen loaf and pops it into her mouth happily, humming at the flavor, before turning and offering her what's left.

"Would you like some, Calantha?"

Mutely, Sakura reaches for the warm bread, trying to understand how someone could have the same soul as another and, yet, be so vastly different. Of course, there are aspects of Artemisia that are unmistakably Hinata, but the Greek woman has subtle quirks that are entirely different that make up her own personality.

It brings to light the question of whether or not Kakashi would still be the same person she had fallen in love with. If she were to lay Artemisia as a foundation by which she'd lay all other assumptions, then it would be safe to assume that Kakashi would look no different than how'd she known him when they were together.

Actually, she _had_ met his reincarnation once before as an old man and he had looked just as she'd remembered. So, the question is, would his soul develop a personality outside of _Kakashi?_ Will she still find him palatable, will she still love him, despite the differences?

Will his soul remember her? Shinobi were supernatural beings and, surely, they had somehow bent the laws of fate. Sakura can only hope.

Artemisia must have mistaken her silence for reluctance because she chuckles lightly, hand lifting to push a lock of raven hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry," She says, lips curling into a small smile. "The High Priestess is a plump, if kind, woman. She won't care. Lucretia is always trying to get in her good graces."

Nodding as if sheepishly appeased, even though she does not care about the High Priestess' opinion, Sakura breaks off a piece and eats it. The bread melts in her mouth, its warm flavor coating her tongue, and she can't remember the last time she'd had something so delicious.

It must show on her face because Artemisia giggles as she takes a piece for herself before turning to open a door.

"Good, yes?"

Sakura only smiles in response. The room they enter is small and yet crowded by multiple sleeping palettes. Each has a wool blanket folded neatly on top and a down pillow placed over it. The room's only window is directly in front of the door and the two women are blasted by a wave of cool breeze as they walk in.

"These are my quarters! Welcome!" Artemisia says with a grin. "It's not much, but it's home."

She leads her to a palette in the corner, right beneath the window, and takes a seat. Sakura follows, lowering herself in front of her, chewing thoughtfully on another piece of bread before placing it between them.

Looking around the room, seeing it bare of everything but bedding, Sakura can't help but ask, "Where do you keep your personal belongings?"

Another flush warms her face when Artemisia laughs in response.

"I don't have any," She explains simply. "None of us do. Our bodies belong to Artemis and we share her gifts."

Sakura's brows furrow in confusion, though she quickly picks up on her meaning.

"So, you share everything?" She asks, blinking rapidly at the thought of having to share _everything._

Artemisia nods, clearly unbothered. "That's right. We share clothing, food, shoes, nearly everything."

"What don't you share?"

"Underwear."

A laugh barks out of Sakura, startling her, and she quickly covers it with a hand even as her shoulders shake.

"But that's only during our womanly ails," Artemisia adds. "Otherwise, we go without."

"Without?!"

The other woman nods sagely, going on to explain that underwear was simply more cloth to wash, and Sakura can understand that. Though, the only person she'd known who had always gone commando was Naruto and sometimes, unfortunately, Gai-sensei.

Sakura shudders at the memory, remembering how Kakashi had gotten drunk and accidentally announced that Gai was packing an acorn. In response, Gai had gone commando for a whole month as to prove that he'd…grown.

She can still vividly remember Ion's horrified shrieks every time they'd bumped into him. Curiously, Gai's ranking in Kunoichi's Digest for Most Desirable Jounin dropped from #87 to #10 that month, though it must have annoyed him that Kakashi was still #1.

"Are you cold?" Artemisia cuts through her nightmare inducing thoughts of Gai's lycra encased package.

Blinking Gai and acorns away, Sakura laughs sheepishly, hand lifting to scratch at the back of her head in a nervous tick she'd picked up from her husband.

"Ah, no," She says, picking at another piece of bread. "I just had a thought."

Then, in an attempt to keep Artemisia from asking about it, she adds, "Do you happen to have a bath? Or perhaps a river nearby?"

The sun is quickly setting and Sakura has been longing for a bath. She'd planned on bathing in a river, layering an invisibility genjutsu over herself to deter prying eyes, but she'd rather not go through the trouble if she didn't have to.

Artemisia casts a glance at the setting sun, straight teeth biting at her lower lip in thought. "We do, but I don't suppose they're ready."

"Ready?" Sakura echoes, a bit confused.

Artemisia nods. "We empty the baths each night and refill them throughout the day for our evening baths."

Sakura's lips purse at the words, knowing that she'll have to sit there for a few more minutes or hours until it's decided that it's time for everyone to bathe. She's no stranger to communal baths, so it doesn't bother her, but it is a reminder of how much she'd taken plumbing for granted.

"Would you like some wine, or water?"

Smiling, Sakura nods and watches as the other girl rises to head to the kitchens. Artemisia is a good host, the type that dotes on her guests, and it's very reminiscent of Hinata. When she returns, conversation comes easily as they sip sweet wine and nibble off the loaf of bread. At some point, Artemisia leaves once again to return with a plate of boiled eggs, cheeses, olives, and more bread for dinner.

She learns that Artemisia was born to a poor family of farmers and immediately thought blind, for neither of her parents had eyes like her. Sakura, as a medical professional and scientist, knows that genetics are a tricky thing—and yet, it could also be the Byakugan ingrained her soul. Such things were complicated in the world of shinobi.

Her birth parents, along with the midwife, had taken her to the temple of Artemis to seek the High Priestess' counsel where it was there that the priestess spun a tale of gods and blessings. She'd told Artemisia's parents that the goddess Artemis had blessed her to carry the moon in her eyes, declaring her one of her own at the moment of her birth.

As dutiful citizens, Artemisia's parents had then left her with the High Priestess, where she was then raised by the ways of the temple up until now—thus gaining her name of Artemisia. To Sakura, it all sounded like a load of bullshit and she felt sorry for the Athenian girl. As a mother herself, she could not fathom abandoning any of her children for the sake of lousy superstitions.

In return, Artemisia learns that Sakura is searching for an old friend and that is why she is traversing the lands. To the other woman, it all must sound like an adventure: a young woman traveling alone, experiencing the world beyond, and making friends along the way. But Sakura is just tired. After all, she'd been traveling for centuries.

The conversation fizzles to a stop at the sound of footsteps coming their way, the door soon opening just enough for one of the other priestesses to pop her head in.

"The baths are ready, Artemisia," She says with a smile. "You and your friend are welcome to join us."

Glancing at the window, the other priestess dismissing herself, Artemisia gasps softly. "Time goes quickly when in good company!'

Laughing, Sakura stands and offers her hand. "Shall we?"

Together, they follow the sounds of chatter and laughter, leading them to an open room with something akin to a pool in the center. Steam rises from the water, some of the girls hissing as it touches their skin, and the air smells of lavender. The scent is soothing and cloying, reminiscent of a spa, and some of the tension eases out of Sakura's shoulders.

When she's traveling, she doesn't allow herself the luxury of relaxation. Things are different now; though not as violent as it used to be, there is still violence and wars in the world. A lone woman on the road is a target and even though Sakura could conceal herself or henge into a man, she'd rather not make the effort.

But here, among all these priestesses, Sakura doesn't feel like she has to worry. She can be just another woman enjoying a bath.

She follows Artemisia to where the other girls are undressing and piling their clothing into a corner. Mirroring their actions, Sakura loosens her strophion. The cotton slides against her skin until she's nude, her breasts tightening as an errant draft sweeps in.

Going to toss the garment into the pile, she pauses at the sound of Artemisia's gasp. Bottle green eyes cut to her friend sharply, mouth opening to ask what's wrong, but stills as she follows the direction of the other woman's startled gaze.

"You are a mother," Artemisia says, voice wispy and wondering, her eyes riveted to Sakura's caesarean scar.

Sakura swallows as an ache she'd long buried thrums deep in the hollows of her bones. A distant part of herself curses her sentimental need to keep reminders of her old life. If she had healed the scar, like Kakashi had suggested long ago, then she wouldn't have to remember how her children are dead and her bloodline scattered to the wind—but it's the only thing that serves as a daily reminder of them.

"I _was_ a mother." She corrects, tone shuttered and hinting at her unwillingness to talk about it.

Luckily, Artemisia is compassionate enough to pick up on when she'd unintentionally caused someone pain and she sets about disrobing herself, not speaking any more words on the subject. The two women slip into the pool, the water as scalding as Sakura expected it to be, and she sighs as goosebumps prickle her skin.

They set about rubbing away the day's grime from their bodies, the din of gossip and chatter filling her ears pleasantly, until a curious priestess interrupts the silence of her thoughts with a question.

"Miss, are you a traveler?" A tall brunette asks, her eyes a startling shade of blue that brighten impossibly at Sakura's replying nod.

"Oh, wow!" She exclaims, wading closer to the two friends. "Have you seen anything interesting?"

The others' conversations dim at the question, their ears perking up in interest and body language open. It seems that Artemisia was right: these poor girls are so sheltered that they're nearly buzzing with the desire to know what's beyond the temple.

So, Sakura regals them with tales of the East—of the different types of food and how the people there eat with sticks. She tells them of the different types of creatures she's seen (dolphins) and of the feel of silk. She talks of sleeping beneath the stars, hunting for her own meat, and surviving off the land. She talks and talks and talks until the water cools and their skin prunes.

Something about telling stories and seeing the wonder in their eyes makes her feel good. It reminds her of bed time stories with her children, enchanting them with anecdotes of their parents' exploits before they were born.

As they set about getting dressed in sleeping tunics, one of them asks where she's heading next and the younger priestesses nearly squeal when she says: "Rome."

"Rome?!" One of them exclaims, nearly bouncing in place. "Oh, I am so jealous!"

Sakura humors them with an indulgent smile while Artemisia rolls her eyes fondly.

"I hear it's quite beautiful," She offers and is surprised when a collective denial rises in the air in the form of guffaws and snorts.

"Rome is a piss-hole," A girl declares with derision and gets swatted in the arm for it. "What?! It's true!"

Sakura blinks, a bit confused at the mixed sentiments. "It's not?"

"No." A girl surmises. "It's not."

"So then, what's so envious about it?" She asks curiously, decidedly not following their teenage train of thought.

 _"_ _The gladiators!"_

Sakura resists the urge to jab a pinky in her ear to make sure her ear drums are still working when loud squeals fill the bath chamber and ricochet off the walls.

"Gladiators?" She repeats, still so very confused. Sure, she's heard of them, but she's never really cared to look into it. She'd done enough killing in her lifetime, doing it for sport didn't sound appealing to, nor did it still well with, her.

"Yes!" The same girl with the brilliant blue eyes exclaims. " _Especially_ the one they call the Gray Wolf."

Sakura pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "And why do they call him the Gray Wolf?"

Another girl sighs, nearly smitten with the thought of this gladiator and Sakura bites her lip to prevent a laugh from spilling forth. It seems that fangirls are in every era.

"Not only is he _so handsome,"_ the girl swoons, hands clasped over her heart. "But he is also the Champion of Rome! He has _never_ lost a game!"

"Girls…" Artemisia admonishes with her hands on her hips, voice trailing off warningly even though there's a quirk to her lips.

"Oh, Artemisia, don't deny it!" The same girl chides as she rolls her eyes, hands still clasped over her heart.

Artemisia's lips purse thoughtfully before they curl into a sly smile, her hands loosening at her sides, as she admits, "He _is_ quite handsome."

It'd be nice if she knew what was so handsome about the man, so Sakura inquires, "Well, what does he look like?"

"An Adonis!"

"A God amongst men!"

"A sculpture!"

Taken aback by the comparisons to such beings, Sakura can only blink in response as they begin walking to the bed chambers.

"That answers nothing," She points out, shaking her head.

In response, the blue-eyed girl cries out, "Wait here!" and then darts off into a room just beyond the room she and Artemisia had been in before.

As she watches her go, another girl starts extolling the virtues of this Gray Wolf.

"They say he was a General in the Emperor's army," she divulges, voice taking on that gossipy quality she'd heard Ino adorn more times than she could count.

Sakura hums, contemplatively. "A general you say? But aren't gladiators slaves?"

The girl nods, if a bit impatiently. "Yes-yes, _but before that,_ there are rumors that he had angered the Emperor's son."

"How?"

"Why, by being named the Emperor's successor, of course."

Sakura rears back in shock, mind whirling at the betrayal—first at that of the Emperor towards his own son, and then the son to the general.

"So, he had him _enslaved?_ " She asks, incredulously.

The girl nodded emphatically. "Yes."

"But _how?_ If he was favored by the Emperor!"

The girl shrugs in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but Sakura was trained in reading body language and can easily read the unease overtaking her features.

" _That_ Emperor died," She says then swallows. "It was quite odd."

"How so?"

"Well," the girl starts, licking her lips, "He was quite healthy in the days leading to his death and then, suddenly, he was dead."

" _I_ think the new Emperor killed him." Another girl drawls offhandedly, only to be immediately hushed by the others.

"Ilithya!" Artemisia hisses, eyes quickly darting around them. "Hold your tongue!"

Ilithya starts, as if realizing what she's just said, and glances around the room nervously. Sakura narrows her eyes at the behavior, reading the tell-tale signs of oppression. They're afraid to speak their mind for fear of being killed and that type of leadership cannot be allowed to take root or flourish. She'll have to do something about that.

"So, he was enslaved," Sakura coaxes and the girls eagerly resume their tale.

"Yes," Ilithya replies. "It angered a lot of people for he was a well-liked general, but the Emperor decreed that anyone who wanted him to be a free man must either buy him and grant him his freedom or have him earn it in the arena."

Sakura bites her lip, having not known this information before.

"And how does a gladiator earn his freedom?" She inquires and Ilithya's fine blonde brows furrow.

"I'm not quite sure," she answers, shaking her head. "But I believe they must earn enough money to buy themselves from their masters."

"How do you know so much?" Artemisia questions, eyes narrowing.

"Not all of us are favored by the High Priestess," Ilythia snarks, rolling her eyes. "Some of us have to go to the market daily, and people talk."

Sakura had just opened her mouth to rebuke the girl for being so rude to Artemisia—who has withdrawn into herself and is fiddling with her fingers in a well-known nervous tick—when the blue-eyed girl from before comes rushing towards them.

"Here, look!" She jabbers, thrusting a flyer in Sakura's face. "It is the Gray Wolf."

Grabbing the flyer from the girl's hand and seeing it blank, the girl sighs in mock irritation and flips it around to where the writing is.

It is only by the grace of being a kunoichi who's been trained to hide her emotions that she doesn't let the gasp tumble from her slack lips at the visage painted onto the sheet of parchment.

It's the Gray Wolf.

It's Kakashi.

 **.**

 **.**

 _ **tbc**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I wish I had an excuse as to why it took me nearly two years to update this story, but honestly, I'm an unreliable author. Inspiration escaped me and it only then just came to me this morning so I spent the day typing this up. I feel like my writing isn't as good as it used to be, so I hope you enjoy this bit of world building and I'm sorry for taking so long. I appreciate all of your reviews and it really helped in getting this chapter out. I'm sorry for making so many of you cry, lol._

 _The next chapter picks up and we actually see some KakaSaku action. It should be just as long, if not longer, than this chapter. Just know that I WILL see this story through!_

 _Thank you soooooo much for supporting this story and favoriting and following and commenting! Love you guys!_


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